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New Jack City

Last week life threw a little test at me in the form of a flat tire. Normally I approach these daily challenges with the tenacity and zest that I used to reserve for scooping dog shit out of my parent’s back lawn, but in this case I acted like an adult. I ignored it. I walked by my sagging tire for a six full days feeling the weight of guilt grow heavier each day. I delayed in part due to weather and access (last weekend was Dad’s weekend in Pullman and I needed more than two feet of room to change this sucker). But last night I finally reached my breaking point – where my procrastination instinct finally broke and died.

I left work a little early and had about thirty minutes of daylight to get the job done. Now comes the sad part, where I learn valuable life lessons that will save me future pain and anguish. Mistake #1: I put the jack in front of the tire instead of behind. Perhaps I was in a hurry to get out of the cold, or maybe I just didn’t remember how I changed my tire last year when it happened, but nonetheless, I put the jack in the wrong spot. Anyhow, I start cranking away and get about halfway to the desired height when I kneel down and check the status of the jack. It’s at an odd angle, slightly askew but still supporting the car. Mistake #2: I keep going. I mistakenly assume that even it is in the wrong place, it’s close enough to get the job done. Besides, I’m cold and the sun is about to go down.

So I crank away and then I hear it: the unnerving sound of metal scrapping pavement. My car falls off the jack and comes down with a thud. I’m immediately happy that I wasn’t stupid enough to perform tragic mistake #3 – crawling under the car to get a better look at my problem. Anyhow, I wrestle my jack from under the car, figuring that I can still get this tire changed tonight. But then I look at it. My car crushed the jack and bent two metal supports which prevented it from raising or lowering in any sort of useful way. Crap-a-lama-ding-dong!

The remainder of the story involves the heroism of my future wife Sarah with her jack and my knuckles scrapping concrete a few times. The tire got changed and my bloody stumps eventually returned to hand shapes, only now I face a problem that I’ve never encountered before. I’ve never bought a jack. Hell, I’ve never talked to anyone else about buying a jack. For all I know, each car is paired with a jack when they are created and one can’t live without the other, like some warped mechanical symboite. (sigh) The only silver lining I can find is I now have an answer when someone asks for Christmas ideas. Whoop-di-doo.

Happy Jacking.


2 Responses

  1. I think they have jack adoption clinics where you can view jacks that have been abandoned or orphaned by their cars.

  2. I think major-sheep is right, but when you go to pick one up, you just want to take all of them home.

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